The Empty Jar(12)

“I just wish you hadn’t seen that.”

Nate raises his head and brings his glassy green eyes up to mine. “Do you do this every day?”

Hesitantly, I nod, still opting for the truth.

He exhales on a sigh laced with grief and sadness. “I wish I could take it from you. I wish it had been me instead.”

My heart squeezes with panic at the mere thought of such a twist of fate. Although I’d have wished that neither of us would ever get sick, I know I’m much more capable of handling sickness in my own body than sickness in his. “Don’t say that. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand watching it take someone else that I love. It’s better this way.”

“Then don’t shut me out like this. Let me carry it with you. Give me that. Please.”

I stroke Nate’s stubbly cheek with the tips of my fingers, memorizing every strong line of the only face I’ve ever loved. “It’ll be easier for me if I bury it. It’ll be easier for me if I put it out of my mind so that we can have as much normal as we can get for the next little while. There will come a time when normal will be a thing of the past. Remember, I’ve seen this before. I know how it works.”

And I do. I saw something similar with my father. At nearly fourteen years old, I’d known that he wasn’t well. I’d watched him wither with unexpected weight loss. I’d witnessed his unusual bouts of confusion. I’d seen him deteriorate over those few short months.

He’d done his best to hide the worst of it from me. He’d gone to work every day, made sure there was food on the table. He’d fought it so hard, refusing to give in until the very last. He’d even pulled himself out of bed to chase lightning bugs with me, begging me to come outside with him when I’d complained about being “too grown up” for it.

But he never gave up. Not for one second.

After my sister died, Momma grew distant, but not my father. He never neglected our time together. Daddy coaxed me outside to chase the lightning bugs right up until the day before he slipped into a coma. Taking that time with me, making that time for me when he had to have felt so awful, spoke volumes to me. His actions had whispered words of love and sacrifice that had reverberated through my life like the delicate ring of a sweet, beautiful bell. He never had to tell me that I was important to him, that he was fighting for me. Even then, I knew. His sacrifice was made clear in every breath he took, every step he made.

It just hadn’t been enough.

I learned early on that fate is a cruel, cruel bitch.

And that prayers are a waste of time.

“Lena, I…” Nate clears his throat. “Ar-are you sure you don’t want to reconsider treatment? I talked to—”

Placing two fingers over his lips, I cut him off.

“I’m positive. I told you what Dr. Taffer said. She was diplomatic about it, but the message was still clear. There isn’t any hope. Trying would just be pure hell. For both of us. And I don’t want that for you, Nate. I know what that does to a person, and you don’t deserve that. Let’s just enjoy our time as much as we can. While I still feel good. Can you do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you. You know that.” His answer is quiet, but strong. Steady and solid like hard wood. He would do anything for me. And I do know that.

“I know. It’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

There’s a pause before he speaks. I know he’s trying to rally, trying to put the somberness of reality on hold for a while.

Just a little while.

But it’s so hard.

“Many reasons, huh?” His grin appears as Nate falls back on his sense of humor. That’s his way. It always has been.

I can hear it in his voice—the mischief. But it’s his tone that betrays what he’s actually feeling. Beneath the lightness, I hear his exhaustion. He’s still struggling to accept my decision, and the battle is wearing him out.

I wish I could help him with acceptance, but I can’t. The only thing I can do is ease his pain as much as I can in the meantime.

Even if that means pretending right along with him.

“Yep. There’s a list,” I reply teasingly.

I let my lips curl up into an evocative smile, resolving to steer our every conversation away from the subject as much as I possibly can. It’s like an ugly black stain on this trip, and I don’t want to waste one minute of the rest of my life being unhappy or anxious. And I don’t want Nate to either. I have to fight it because I want to give my husband some of his very best memories of me over the next few months. Moments and words and expressions that will one day override the horrible end when it comes for me, an end that he is bound to witness.

“A list? Does it begin with my engaging smile or my winning personality?” Nate is absently stroking his finger along the delicate skin beneath my chin.

“No, although both of those are on the list.”

“No? Then what could be first? What could’ve caught the attention of the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen? Hmm, let’s see. My sparkling green eyes?” His mouth is beginning to show the early signs of a genuine smile. I feel encouraged, my heart lightening noticeably. With a grin, I shake my head. “Lips that could charm the devil himself?”

“Nope,” I deny, inching my way closer to him.